


Placebo

by TheRebelDread



Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Drabble, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-02
Updated: 2015-06-02
Packaged: 2018-04-02 13:48:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4062265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRebelDread/pseuds/TheRebelDread
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Writing is hard. Skwisgaar struggles with his solo. Nathan helps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Placebo

Skwisgaar sat cross-legged on the bed, with a notepad and a guitar in his lap, and his laptop open in front of him. His hair was pulled back in a messy bun to keep it out of his face, but every now and then a stray piece would fall over his eyes, and he'd tuck it back behind his ear. He jotted down some notes, held the pen between his teeth, and put his fingers to the strings. He tried again. For the 24th time.  


 

It was still wrong.  


_"Javla Helveta."_ He crossed out his previous notes before crumpling up the paper and tossing it across the room. He made a few changes to the tabs on his laptop, then went back to his guitar and played it again.

Wrong.

It was the same spot, every time. Why had it sounded so much better when he'd first played it for Nathan? What was he missing? A few strands of hair fell over his eyes, and Skwisgaar sighed.

"This is dildos."

Maybe he hadn't heard the door open, or felt the soft dip in the mattress from the added weight behind him. Or maybe he didn't care.

"Hey." Nathan's deep voice was close to his ear. Skwisgaar rolled his eyes.

"Gos away. I am busy." He tore another page out of his notebook and tossed it behind him. It hit Nathan's shoulder, and the singer picked up the crumpled paper to examine it.

"Busy making a mess."

"Shut up."

Skwisgaar leaned forward, his chin resting on his palm as he studied his laptop. The screen was too bright, and his eyes were starting to water, blurring his vision. He felt Nathan's hand at the small of his back, warm and soft.

"You've been at this for hours."

Skwisgaar ignored him. He threw his notebook aside and picked up his guitar. His fingers found the strings, and fell into the same routine for the 26th time. It still felt wrong, and he was just starting to wonder if he'd completely lost the ability to play when he felt Nathan's hands on his hips, and his mouth at his neck. Skwisgaar froze. His fingers stopped.

Nathan's hair tickled his arms, and when his lips brushed his ear, Skwisgaar shivered.

"Keep playing."

At first, Skwisgaar didn't. Nathan's mouth moved behind his ear, then down his neck, nipping at the soft skin just below his hairline, and the guitarist arched back into him like a cat. The Gibson screamed when his fingers slipped, and Nathan pulled his hips until he was tight against him.

"I said, 'keep playing.'"

Skwisgaar didn't want to. His fingers ached and his eyes were tired, and Nathan's body was warm and inviting behind him. But the singer tugged sharply at his tangled mess of hair and Skwisgaar cursed in his native tongue before he reluctantly obeyed.

Nathan's hands slid under his shirt as Skwisgaar's fingers moved across the fretboard. They danced over his ribcage and followed the curve of his hip, feather light touches that went straight between his thighs. The guitarist moaned as his head lolled back onto Nathan's broad shoulder. His eyes fell shut, letting his fingers move on their own. When Nathan's hand reached his stomach, Skwisgaar's hips pressed into his guitar, and his breath caught. He felt the rumble of Nathan's laugh in his ear. Smug bastard.

It felt good; Nathan's hands, Nathan's mouth, the rhythm of his Gibson. He'd almost forgotten why he'd been so angry. When he reached _that part_ in the solo, his fingers remembered the notes, and moved through it without a hitch.

"Good," Nathan purred. He palmed Skwisgaar through his jeans and the blonde keened in response. Skwisgaar played through the rest of the solo with ease, though surprised he was still able to function with all the blood settled between his thighs. The solo was perfect, and Skwisgaar was so hard it was fucking _brutal._ His Gibson forgotten, he slumped back against Nathan's chest, breathing heavy, wanting more.  


"Better?" The singer asked.

Skwisgaar swallowed, his mouth dry. "Ja."

"Good." Nathan moved to pull away but Skwisgaar grabbed his wrist.

"No. You're not going anywheres." He reached back to run a hand through the singer's long hair, sliding between his fingers like silk, bringing his mouth close to his. He could taste the alcohol on his breath. Whisky. Jameson. "I still needs to write Toki's part."

Nathan smirked. He nipped at the guitarist's lip as he worked to loosen his belt, "Well then, you better not fuck up."


End file.
